Stars Kept Watching
by westpoints
Summary: complete Mark/Addison, pre-Seattle, post-Derek. Well, they never said that Mark and Addison would ever be perfect. But this is a special kind of romance, anyway.


"Stars Kept Watching"  
by TehFuzzyPenguin

Disclaimer: I still have no ownership over any of these characters.

* * *

Addison had whacked her foot on Mark's dresser when she was trying to get to the bathroom in the morning, and her shampoo had run out. An unsuccessful half-hour later, she stormed into his lovely mahogany paneled, sparingly used kitchen with stringy hair and one eye made up.

The windows blinds were drawn, and Mark was sitting nonplussed at the kitchen bar, eating cereal and reading the Times. He looked up at her, raised an eyebrow, and continued reading. "Morning."

Addison snatched the paper out of his hands. "Would it kill you," she started without preamble, "to pick up some shampoo when you're out buying your own hygiene products?"

Mark crossed his arms. "I made coffee," he said. "You want some?"

"No! No, Mark, I do not want coffee, I want some shampoo, and I want you to acknowledge that I am living with you, and therefore if you're going for a grocery run, then you should let me know so that I can tell you what I need as well!"

"Fine then. More coffee for me." Mark made to empty the pot into his mug.

"No!" Addison thrust the paper above his mug. "No, leave that. I need it."

"Well, Addison, I figured you could get your shampoo yourself."

"That's not the point!" Addison ran a hand through her hair and dropped the paper. Mark promptly picked it back up. "Mark!"

"What?" He spooned some Cheerios into his mouth, and Addison took the opportunity:

"Mark! The point is, you refuse to adjust! You know? We are in a relationship. You and me. That means we communicate, and we are not communicating. When did you last go get groceries?"

Mark swallowed. "On Monday," he said.

"On Monday. On Monday. On Monday. It's Wednesday. You couldn't tell me that you were getting groceries after work? What if I thought that—that, that we could make omelets tomorrow morning?"

"Addie, we don't make omelets."

"Well what if we did? And we didn't have eggs? Okay? Like, this is like whenever Cary needs a consult, but she never tells us until it's almost too late!"

"Yes. But...you're not a patient in this case. Me not getting your shampoo because I didn't tell you I was going to the store isn't going to kill you."

Addison rolled her eyes. "God. You're such a—man. Why did I move in with you? Why didn't I move in with Savannah?"

"Well why didn't you?" Mark asked. He put the paper down and drained the rest of his coffee. "Why didn't you move in with your best friend, huh? Since I'm so utterly incompetent at everything?"

"I didn't say you were utterly _incompetent_—"

"Yeah? Well, you're sure implying it by all this 'You're not communicating, I need eggs, Savvy's so much better' crap."

"—I was just saying—"

"You were just saying that you're sick of me, and you're sick of this entire situation, like you always are, no matter how much you deny it, okay?"

Addison raised her voice one more notch to, "I was just saying, that you could at least pretend that we're living together, and give me some consideration! Jesus, I can't even depend on you to swing by the drugstore to pick up something for me."

"You never told me to get it! How was I supposed to know?"

"You should have asked!"

Mark sighed angrily and slammed the paper down. Standing, he said, in a low voice, "I have to go to a dinner tonight. Some conference. I'd be glad if you were there."

"I might have something planned," Addison shot back.

"You don't have anything planned."

"Well, why would I want to go with you to a plastic surgeon conference?"

Mark measured the sarcasm in his voice. "For the pleasure of my company."

He picked up his leather jacket and swung it on. Addison said, "You could have told me this earlier."

"My apologies," said Mark. "I'm a flawed man." He walked to the sink, emptying his bowl of Cheerios. "I suppose we're not going in together today."

"Are you serious? Can you _see _me?"

"I'll see you at work."

Addison stood staring out at his retreat from the window, until she realized that he'd taken the rest of the coffee in a thermos. "Damn it, Mark!" she said.

She tried to straighten her hair, but was forced to pull it back into an unattractive ponytail. She wondered if maybe she was overreacting a little, and was composing an apology in her head as she put on the rest of her make-up. Then, as she pulled on her skirt and slid on a pair of bad-day shoes, she remembered the coffee.

* * *

"Well," said Cary. "You look like hell."

"Spare me the sympathy," said Addison. "Do you have anything for me?"

"Besides sympathy? Nothing."

"Are you sure?" Addison frowned and modified her tone. "Sorry. I mean, are you sure you don't need anything?"

"No, I'm sure."

"Okay. Okay, fine. I'll see you later, Cary."

She walked away before Cary tried to be too social. She had rounds to make before the interns got here, and coffee to find.

* * *

"Wellsworth," Addison said, "I sorry to do this to you, and I know this is something Sloan would do, but could you please, please, go find me some coffee. Any coffee. Any plain coffee. None of that gourmet shit."

Eddie Wellsworth, a young intern with a thin moustache and disproportionately large hands, nodded, said "Sure...Dr—Dr. Shepherd," and took off.

Addison found her way to the nurse's station, flipping hazily through the charts. What she needed was in there, she just couldn't find it because her life was getting in the way. It was unprofessional and made her angrier.

Mark came up and stood uncomfortably close to her, leaning against the counter. He smelled like something expensive and probably from Saks. Maybe Armani. It was sharp and heady, and Addison slammed her chart close to glare at him without any obstructions.

"Oh," he said, "you don't look happy."

"You took the coffee."

"Guilty."

"You took the coffee when I asked you to leave it."

"Oh, did you? I'm sorry, I must not have remembered to ask you if you wanted it."

Addison hit his arm, and any other day, he would have winced. Instead, he just smirked. "I had to send an intern to find me some. Okay? That turns me into you. I am not you. I don't pretend that the entire world lives to serve me."

"Well then, in that case, you would have made more coffee yourself. Learn to live independently, Addison."

"I hate you!" Mark laughed like she'd made a joke and plucked a chart from the racks, which she was sure he didn't even need. He looked at the room number and started walking towards it. "I hate you!"

* * *

She ate lunch with Cary, which was a mistake. Cary talked about everything. Cary talked about the weather. Cary talked about sports. Cary talked about high school, and honestly, who talked about high school when it was over half a lifetime ago? Addison picked up a French fry and sighed.

Cary snapped out of her self-absorption long enough to ask, "What's wrong?"

Addison said, "I think I made a mistake." She ate the fry. She wasn't talking about lunch. Mark walked into the cafeteria, swaggering and stinking of good surgery. He leered at her. She mouthed, "You suck."

"Oh," said Cary, and Addison returned her attention, sorry to see the decimated salad in front of her colleague. "I almost forgot. I need a consult this afternoon before my patient goes into surgery."

Addison tried hard not to be snide. "When's the surgery?"

"Um...three?"

She checked her watch. She remembered that she didn't wear a watch anymore, and then checked her cell phone. It was 12:30. Addison pushed her tray of fries away from herself, folded her arms on the table, and nestled her head in them.

"Are you okay?" asked Cary.

Addison hmmm-ed.

"Are you sure."

"Yes. Yes. It's just—god, Cary, I'd love to help, but some notice would be nice."

"I know. I'm sorry, I just—I just didn't know when would be the best time, and that whole thing with Mark seemed a little explosive—"

Addison held up a hand before Cary's deluge of excuses drowned her. "I'm fine. I'm fine. Can I come in at two? Would that be enough time?"

"That's fine! That's great, that's just—thank you, Addison."

"You are so welcome." She hoped it was the end of the conversation.

Unfortunately, Cary, unattuned to social cues, said, "Oh, ew."

"What?"

"Sloan is sitting with the interns. He's hitting on the interns. That's just—there have got to be boundaries."

Addison didn't even bother looking up; she picked up her tray and walked away, putting it on the conveyor belt that carried it to wherever the leftover food went.

She stalked down the hallways, found the on call room, and flung herself in bed. Taking a deep breath, Addison shoved her face in the pillow and screamed loudly for a very long time. Her ears burned.

* * *

Addison helped supervise and organize Cary's surgery, inviting Wellsworth to come in with her (because someone had to be teaching the interns something). He got to hold a tube. She made it sound like the most important thing in the world.

Halfway through the surgery, as Cary was suturing the lining of the small intestine, Addison's head started itching. It was perfect. Her eye twitched.

Wellsworth asked, "Are you okay, Dr. Montgomery?" Addison rolled her neck and looked at the upper deck, seeing attentive interns and a smirking Mark.

"I'm fine, Wellsworth," she said. "Absolutely fff—fine."

* * *

Mark cornered her in the locker room, where she hung up her scrub cap neatly in her locker and quietly shut the door before turning to confront him.

"What?" she asked.

"I'm just saying," he said.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm just saying, remember about that dinner tonight."

"Well, fuck you," said Addison, "I'm not going to dinner."

Mark rolled his eyes. "Stop being irrational," he said calmly, "and come on. I need you to be there tonight. Please?"

"Oh hell no. I don't have time to go home and get ready."

"Yeah, well, 'home' is my house, so I say, get ready here, what you're wearing right now is fine, and meet me outside in half an hour."

Addison planted her hands on her hips. "I'm not your wife, Mark. And I'm not a self-centered, inconsiderate, egotistical asshole like you, so I actually spent today thinking about us and how I needed to apologize, but of course, you didn't."

"Yes, but I'm not a Second-Wave feminist who can't keep her pants on long enough to take care of herself, so I guess you can chalk that up to another disappointment of mine."

Addison flailed her hands. "That doesn't even make sense!" she yelled.

"You're not making sense either!" Mark bellowed. "Dammit, Addison, I just want you to come to dinner with me."

"You want me to be your trophy wife on your whim," Addison corrected. "And ever since the whole thing with—ever since I moved in with you, you've taken me for granted, as though I'd be your successful little accessory when it suited you."

"I've never taken you for granted!"

"Well, I can't have dinner tonight, Mark! I used to have a life once, you know, before all this shit happened."

Mark opened his mouth, raised his hand, locked both his knees. Then he slouched, crossed his arms, pressed his lips together. Addison threw her head back because it felt dramatic and triumphant.

The timing was almost perfect, because it looked like Mark was trying hard not to say it: "I used to like your smile once."

But of course he'd intended to all along, and the manipulation made Addison want to scream. She turned around, opened her locker door, and slammed it for effect. "I'm not going to your fucking dinner," she said lowly, and stalked out. It would have had more impact if she didn't have to elbow past him to get to the door.

Pausing at the threshold, Addison turned, still fuming, and said, "You know what? This is great. Just great."

* * *

As she was leaving, Addison dialed Savannah's number. "I think I made a mistake," she said when Savannah picked up.

"Oh no," said Savannah. "What kind of mistake?"

Addison unlocked her car and got in, banging her head against the headrest. "I think I made a mistake in moving in with Mark."

"You made a mistake."

"Yes."

"By _moving in_ with Mark."

"Oh, don't be a bitch, Savvy," said Addison.

"Well, I mean—that's a bit like saying—um—'The British made a mistake by attacking the American colonists.'"

"...yes?"

"_The point being_," Savannah barreled on, "that there were many mistakes made _before _that."

"Oh, honey," said Addison, "you have got to stop doing this teaching thing." Savannah was silent for a few seconds, and Addison sighed. "Oh god, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that, Sav. I just—I can't say anything right today."

"No, it's okay. You're right, it's just that—Mom isn't—well, what happened with Mark?"

"Nothing. Nothing happened with Mark. And I know you love Mark most out of all of us, but he just tends to do nothing."

"Mark is the quintessential man."

"He is not."

"Yes, well," said Savannah, "you already knew that."

"Can I move in with you?"

"Sure." Addison waited a little while, and then burst out laughing that same time as Savannah. "You're not going to move in with me, are you?" she asked.

"I can't. I don't know why. Derek wins if I do, I guess."

"Is that seriously why you're rejecting me?"

Addison laughed. "No, I just—wish Mark would actually pay attention every now and then. You know, like, he's attentive, and he's nice, but he really doesn't know how to live with someone. And the best part is, he sort of refuses to learn. As though I'm supposed to conform to him, like I'm the one with the problem."

"Yeah, but—well. Hey, Addi?"

"Hmm?"

"Weiss is about to get home, so...I'm just saying, whatever happened between you and Mark is probably not your fault."

Addison looked at the clock on her instrument panel. "Yeah," she said in resignation, "Yeah, it probably is."

"I love you, you know. I love you most of all."

"Let's go out for drinks later."

"Let's."

* * *

For some reason, Mark arrived back at his brownstone later than Addison, and he didn't even bother taking in her pajama-clad form. For the record, she was reading superficially in front of the TV, turned to the weather channel. "Where are you going?" asked Addison, mindful of the time.

"Well, I figured I'd follow your example and blow off a good dinner with stuffy, aristocratic surgeons to sit at home and do nothing," he said, and disappeared into the kitchen. "Which, of course," he yelled from there, "includes a copious amount of drinking, because I know you're pretending to have self-control."

"Screw you," she yelled back.

"Oh, come on now," Mark said, coming back with a half-empty bottle and two glasses, "it's not like we're married." Addison elected to turn off the television, because then she could realistically feign concentration on the book. It was Silas Marner.

Mark sat on the other side of the room and set the glasses down, purposefully next to the stack of coasters. He didn't use any of the coasters. Pouring himself some wine, he leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. "Ah, what a nice way to end the day."

Addison sighed. "I can't live like this."

Mark frowned. "I know."

"You have hardwood floors. You forget to tell me things. You squeeze your toothpaste from the middle."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, Addi."

She'd taken a shower to wash off her make-up because she'd expected to scream and cry. Now she was just too exhausted. "Okay."

"I'm sorry."

She twisted her lip. "Yeah, I know you are."

"Christ." Mark rubbed his face. "Maybe," he said, "maybe we just aren't thinking about this the right way. Like, we're living together, but we don't act like it."

"That's what I've been saying all day."

Mark nodded. He looked down at his hands. "I'm just not that kind of person, Addison." What he meant was: _I'm not Derek_.

"I know. I'm sorry." What she meant was: _I sort of wish you were, but not really_.

"So is this it?" asked Mark. His face was grave and his eyes were sad and Addison tried very, very hard to hate him. "Are we just—giving up?" She didn't answer at first. "Well, that's good. That's just—great." They sat glaring at each other, neither wanting to give in to the melodrama and storm out. "Here, have some wine."

"No, thanks."

"I didn't offer you wine, I'm giving you some. Drink up." He handed her a glass and drained his. Addison took a sip and put hers on the floor, away from sweeping hands or feet.

"Mark."

"What?"

Addison tried to be honest. She imagined the motivational speakers on late night. "I'm not giving up," she said. "Okay? Is that what you want? Just to give up and say, 'well, I guess it didn't work'?"

"No. No, that's not what I want, but that seems to be where we're headed now."

"Well, there's that then." She pursed her lips. "Have you eaten dinner?"

Mark slouched. "No."

"Do you want to do macaroni?"

* * *

Addison woke up the next morning beside Mark. She decided that maybe she had too many clothes and shoes to be moved to Savannah's place, and maybe Weiss wouldn't like it, even though he'd offered her their guest room.

Mark said, his voice deep and raspy from sleep, "Maybe we're just not used to each other like that yet."

Addison said, "Let's just see how this goes, okay?"

-end-

* * *

A/N: Wow, I haven't written Mark/Addison in a very, very long time. It almost makes me feel sad. I'm getting back into it! Title and some lines (two or three) taken from Tegan and Sara's "More For Me" (because I love T&S).

review!


End file.
